TwentyFour Hours, One Last Chance
by Leia
Summary: [Complete] ChiChi's P.O.V. when Goku comes back at the Tenkaichi Budoukai, just before Buu. With such a short time, can she and Goku say everything that needs to be said?


Disclaimer: I own DB/Z/GT. Did you know that? In my spare time, I, Akira Toriyama, put on a wig of long, brown hair, get green contact lenses, and prance around masquerading as a Canadian student. ...You don't believe me? Well, I didn't think you would. *Grins* Just for formality's sake, no, I own nothing with regards to Dragonball or any of its subsidiaries. Except I got a new "Striking Z-fighter" Piccolo action figure from my best friend . . . Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! Heh. 

A/N: This story is ChiChi's P.O.V. during the time when Son comes back in the Buu Saga. The Z-senshi have not yet encountered Kaioushin-sama or Kibito-san, so they know nothing of Majin Buu or Babidi. This story deals with all ChiChi's regrets from her marriage with Goku, and also some of the issues she has had to deal with during the time when Son was dead. 

It's a fairly serious story, and it's quite lengthy for a P.O.V. -- just thought I'd warn you. It's been a while since I did a G/CC, but this one has been in my head since I was in Florida over March Break, and I finally sat down long enough to write it down. It's also my first time actually writing a G/CC with both of them in it that actually was in character and not too depressing. I thought. 

Well. I think that's enough author's notes, eh? On to the story!! Tell me what you think, eh?   
  
  


Twenty-Four Hours, One Last Chance 

I never thought I would see this day — my Goku-san is coming home! The authorities in the Other World are letting him come back to Earth for twenty-four hours, if only to allow him to compete in the _Tenkaichi Budoukai_ . . . and after seven years of being without him, I'll take whatever I can get.

It was a little disappointing, when I heard that Goku-san contacted Bulma, Vegeta, and Gohan-chan to tell them he is coming back . . . the first thing that popped into my head was that, after all our years of marriage, Goku-san didn't think to contact his wife.

Of course, I feel guilty about that now — I'm so selfish sometimes! I've spent so many years nagging, worrying, accusing, blaming . . . it's a wonder Goku-san stayed with me as long as he did. But he's like that . . . he takes years of me restricting him, and when he dies, he tells Gohan-chan to tell me that _he_'s sorry for being selfish? My Goku-san amazes me . . . he's so patient, and in the years since his death, I've come to realize I don't deserve him.

But he doesn't think that. _He_ feels it's the other way around. And that's why I love him.

I don't know how to react when I'll see him . . . should I hug him, or kiss him, or just smile? Should I acknowledge him at all, or let his friends greet him first? I don't know anything anymore.

"Mommy, there's too many people!"

My youngest son, Goten, tugs at my skirt, and I look down at him and smile. At seven years of age, my little one is like an exact replica of Goku — not only in appearance, appetite, and fighting prowess, but also in his innocence and his constant displays of unbridled love and affection. It doesn't matter where we are; if Goten-chan wants to give me a big hug and kiss, he will. Goku-san was always the same way.

Poor Goten-chan. He's clinging to my leg like he's a little puppy, and his eyes are wide like saucers. He doesn't like crowds of people — that comes of living his entire life at Mt. Paozu or at Trunks' house. He doesn't know very many people, and crowds make him nervous.

"It's okay, sweetie," I pat his head, ruffling his unruly spikes of hair, and he presses closer. "No one's going to kidnap you when you're with your friends."

"Not with your Mom around, anyway. She'd beat 'em up if they even look at you wrong!"

That's Yamucha. He thinks my temper and protectiveness is quite funny, but I don't mind his teasing — without his help with raising Goten-chan, and aiding me through my heaviest periods of grief, I don't know what I'd do. Yamucha has been my best friend over these past seven years — one of two best friends, actually.

Everyone laughs at Yamucha's statement, and I just roll my eyes and give a short bow. This group never takes anything seriously . . . a person has to learn to deal with that, but it's not that bad. They certainly keep me on my toes.

"Mommy!" Goten-chan tugs insistently on my skirt again and raises his arms, wanting me to pick him up — even though he's too big for that. "I don't like all the people! They might step on me!"

"I can fix that," Yamucha declares gallantly, bending down and picking up Goten-chan, lifting him like he's going to give him a piggyback ride — but at the last second, he reaches up and plunks Goten-chan on Piccolo's shoulders.

Everyone stops and stares at the Namekusejin or at Yamucha, expecting Piccolo to bash the human in the face and knock Goten-chan to the ground. I know better, though . . . Piccolo likes Goten-chan a lot; he admires my little boy's spirit and willingness to fight. Even if Goten-chan can drive Piccolo crazy sometimes — and believe me, until you've seen Piccolo driven up the wall, you haven't seen anything.

  


Without looking at anyone, Piccolo keeps walking. "Just don't touch the ears," he growls, leaving Goten-chan perched on his shoulder pads, grinning like a maniac. Goten-chan knew perfectly well that Piccolo would let him sit on him, since I've seen the Namekusejin giving him piggyback rides in the backyard before.

I like Piccolo, now. I'd even go so far as to say he's my other best friend. Without him, I don't think my Gohan-chan would ever have gotten over the loss of his father, and he, along with Yamucha, helped me cope with Goku-san's death. It took me a few years to stop blaming Piccolo for everything that has happened, but now the two of us have a healthy dose of respect for each other. I've come to see a different side of him — more emotional, and almost caring — and he now realizes I'm more than just a nagging widow.

I get along with all Goku-san's friends, even Vegeta. Well . . . to the extent that he no longer calls me names and I don't yell at him anymore, but that's pretty good for two stubborn people like us. I understand now that it was never Vegeta's fault, or Piccolo's, or Kuririn's, or anyone else's, that Goku-san was always off fighting — and I think they like me a whole lot better because of that.

I wonder what his friends expect me to do when Goku-san arrives . . . they probably think I'll light into him and yell at him for dying and leaving me all alone. Maybe I would have a few years ago, but I've grown up since Goku-san died — and even then, I only got angry because I was afraid. By "afraid" I mean that the strength of my feelings frightened me . . . I would get so worried when he was gone, and so relieved when he returned safely, that it scared me. I wasn't supposed to care so much about one person . . . the thought of him dying shouldn't have paralyzed and terrified me. He was my husband, but he wasn't supposed to mean more to me than life itself.

But he did — and still does. And that's why, when he returned home battle after battle, I always reprimanded him for leaving, or ignored him and fussed over Gohan. I didn't want him or anyone else to see how much he meant to me. That kind of vulnerability was something I did _not_ want, especially with my strength much weaker than the rest of the fighters. I didn't want to leave any room for attack. 

Of course, even though I might have fooled everyone else, Goku-san knew. After everyone had left and we were alone again, I would let out my fear and pain, usually by bursting into tears and crying for more than an hour. Goku-san would hold me for as long as it took until it sank in that he was safe and back home to me again. He's really quite sensitive, for all his naivete.

I can't allow myself that luxury this time — letting out my emotions, I mean. If I do, I don't think I'll be able to make it without breaking down, and I can't do that. I don't want my Goten-chan to see his Mommy upset — Gohan-chan has seen me cry enough times for both of them. So I don't know how I'll react.

A hand squeezes mine briefly, and I force myself to smile. I know it's Bulma without having to look, for I can hear her voice chatting away. I wonder how long she's been talking. " — and it will be _so_ nice to see Son-kun again! If _I'm_ this excited, you must be almost ready to die!"

I just laugh at that, since Bulma didn't expect me to reply. No one is paying attention to her except Yamucha, who is frowning. Did Bulma say something earlier that offended him, or what? "It will be strange to see him after so long," I agree, "Knowing Goku-san, he probably won't have changed one bit."

"Most likely not," Bulma smiles and runs a hand through her turquoise hair, which she has kept short for a few years now. She says it was too much of a hassle when it was long, and I have to agree with her on that. But I've never cut mine, because Goku-san always told me he liked my hair long. Cutting it would be like . . . like admitting out loud that Goku is never coming back. I may be sentimental, but I can't help it.

I shake my head rapidly and tune Bulma back in, not wanting to be rude. "And it's so great that he'll be here for twenty-four hours, not just for the _Budoukai_. You two have so much catching up to do!"

Vegeta snickers. "Seven years of catching up is a lot, woman, even for Saiyajin. Especially with only one night — Kakarotto might be able to handle it, but his mate will probably die of exhaustion."

  


I pretend I don't understand the lewd insinuation and study the others' reactions, instead. Bulma is laughing, and so are Oolong and Kamesen'nin. Kuririn looks like he's trying very hard to keep a straight face, because his wife is poised ready to smack him if he doesn't. #18, like myself, is a firm believer that details of one's personal life should remain, well, personal. Goten-chan is oblivious, Trunks is grinning, Piccolo is ignoring us, and Gohan-chan is turning red. Vegeta just stands there, smirking like he's said something terribly clever. Yamucha, on the other hand, looks upset, almost like he's going to cry.

I wince at that last reaction. I realize Yamucha has come to care for me more than he would for a normal friend, and it hurts him that I'm still in love with my husband. But there's nothing I can do about that. A few times in the past year or so, I've almost wished that I _could_ fall in love with Yamucha, since it would be so much easier than grieving for Goku-san. Often was I was alone, I would think of how much I miss being in someone's arms and feeling loved, but each time, my faithfulness to Goku-san overrides everything else. It's not a question of "allowing myself" to have feelings for Yamucha, because I _don't_ have them. It's as simple as that. I still love Goku-san, and I probably always will, and even though I don't like to see Yamucha unhappy after all he's done for me, I can't help it if I don't reciprocate his affections.

I move over to him and pat his arm — no one notices, since they've all gone back to their own conversations. "They were just kidding," I reassure him.

"Yeah, I'm sure they were," Yamucha says dully, then he looks at me. His eyes are blank, but he forces a smile. "It's okay, you don't have to give me that look."

I know exactly what "that look" is, since I've been giving it to Gohan-chan and Goku-san for years, whenever I'm worried. Apparently I start frowning, then one of my eyebrows will lift and I get a really concerned expression on my face. I hadn't noticed I do this until Yamucha pointed it out a few years ago.

"Sorry about that," I smile back at him, wishing there was some way I could fix the hurt I've caused him . . . but I know I can't. "Could you go get Goten-chan for me, please?"

Yamucha nods, and he goes to find Piccolo. I'm glad for the distraction, because it gives me a few minutes to think about Goku-san and how to react when I see him. It just doesn't seem possible to get it all in — seven years' worth of missing him, plus a lifetime of apologies, and I have to get them said in a few short hours? I can't do it!

I hear footsteps fall into rhythm with mine, and I glance over to see a pair of gold-tipped boots beside my shoes, and I look up, startled. Vegeta is keeping pace with me, pretending he just happened to come up beside me, and I wonder what he's up to. If he wants to make another sex joke, then he can tell someone else. I'm not in the mood.

"Don't overdo it when you see him," Vegeta speaks up, his voice low like he doesn't want anyone to overhear. "Remember, he's only back for twenty-four hours, so don't get reattached. If you let your emotions go, you'll be sorry. It will only hurt worse after he's gone again."

I stare at him in shock, wondering what in heaven's name brought _that_ on. Is my indecision so painfully obvious that even Vegeta notices? If that's the case, then I must be acting like a little schoolgirl . . . and how embarrassing is _that_? Shaking my head, I start to say something to Vegeta, but he has already gone. He's back with Bulma, one arm wrapped possessively around her, glaring at a man who was catcalling from across the street. 

I decide then that I will be polite, but distant, when Goku-san comes. I can save any emotion for when we're alone.

Besides training and fighting and the like, the only thing Goku-san and I really disagreed upon was what I called "public decency." Except in extreme circumstances, I didn't like to be touched in public — that included hand-holding, Goku's arm around my shoulders . . . and especially kissing. Those types of things just weren't acceptable where others could see us, and I made sure Goku-san knew that. If we went for walks, I wouldn't let Goku-san come near enough to touch me — and if another couple walked by all snuggly with each other, I always expressed disapproval after they had passed.

  


Goku-san didn' t understand that, and I know it frustrated him. We had fights over it, even — real, honest-to-goodness fights, where I wasn't the only one yelling. Gohan-chan always ran out of the house with his hands over his ears whenever Goku-san and I shouted at each other. Strangely enough, it was the only issue Goku-san ever fought back over — any other time he was quiet and let me do all the screaming.

He was adamant on this topic, though. He didn't see the problem with expressing physical affection in public — he said that as long as we loved each other, he didn't know why we couldn't show it. I snapped back that we could do whatever we wanted when no one was watching, but it made others uncomfortable to see us.

Goku-san thought that was ridiculous, and he told me so. He said I made a lot more people look at us by squirming away any time he tried to put his arm around me. Of course, I never bothered listening to him then, and the fights usually ended in a stalemate after that point. Goku-san always slept in Gohan-chan's room when we argued, while I lay awake half the night, wondering what they were talking about.

Things would be fine in the morning, except for one thing . . . when he came down to breakfast, Goku-san wouldn't kiss me good morning like he always did. After that, relations between us returned to normal.

Except once. After a particularly vicious argument the night before, we went shopping for groceries, and Goku-san took it upon himself to prove me wrong. Right in the middle of the store, Goku-san grabbed me by the waist and kissed me, hard. I was so shocked and angry that I couldn't do anything until he pulled away, and even then I just stood there, staring at him in disbelief.

He waved a hand around at the other shoppers, who weren't paying attention to us at all, and Goku-san pointed that out — quite triumphantly, I might add. I don't know how he thought I would react, but he probably didn't expect what happened. I was so furious with him for deliberately taking advantage of me that I slapped him across the face and stormed out of the store. And let me tell you, I don't slap like an ordinary housewife — I have enough martial arts training behind me that I actually left a bruise that stayed there for a week.

It took as long for the bruise to fade as it did for us to speak to each other, and Goku-san never tried to hug or kiss me in public again. Had I known that I would lose him after only eleven years of marriage, I don't know if I would have done any differently . . . I was raised as a Princess, and as such it was so ingrained in me to act "proper" that not even Goku-san could break me out of it.

I shake my head a little, wondering if Goku-san remembers those fights as well as I do . . . probably, since his memory isn't as bad as many people think it is. And since he remembers, he won't give me more than a smile unless I do something else.

Yamucha comes back with Goten-chan, and my little boy squeals happily, running and jumping into my arms. "Hi, Mommy!" he exclaims, "Piccolo-san gives good piggyback rides. I was way up high, like I was flying!"

I have to laugh at his innocence, and I set him down, though he isn't that heavy. With all his weighted clothing, Goku-san's laundry weighs more than our son does. "I'll have to ask him to give me one sometimes," the thought of riding on Piccolo's shoulders makes me chuckle, and up ahead I see Piccolo's ear twitch in annoyance — he heard me. 

_Nice try_, the thought comes into my head, and I roll my eyes.

_I was kidding_, I think back at him. Telekinetic Namekusejins can be a real nuisance sometimes — but I don't mind that much. It's kind of funny, actually.

Goten-chan laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard, and Yamucha joins in, as well. "Did you wanna' talk to me, Mommy?" Goten-chan pipes up, his tiny hand warm in mine.

I blink, having momentarily forgotten why I called him back. "Yes, sweetie. I just wanted to tell you not to be afraid of your father. I know you get scared of strangers, but your Daddy is a very nice man. He's big like Gohan, but he's very, very nice. Okay?"

  


Goten-chan nods rapidly, and he looks up at me, his eyebrows furrowed adorably. "I know . . . but is it okay if I'm still a little scared?"

"Of course it's okay, sweetheart," I pat his head, and he seems to accept that, the lines on his forehead smoothing away. We've discussed this before, a few days ago, when Goten-chan asked timidly if he thought Goku-san would like him.

I told Goten-chan that of course Goku-san would like him — in fact, he would love him. Goten-chan frowned, and he asked, if Daddy liked him so much, why didn't he come back sooner?

I didn't have an answer for that, and I just told him that Daddy had _wanted_ to come back, but that he was so wonderful that the people in Other World wanted him to stay dead with them. I don't think that answer satisfied him, but he didn't ask any more questions.

I still think he's nervous, because the more everyone asks where Goku-san is, the closer Goten-chan clings to my leg. After a while it's difficult to walk, because Goten-chan is pressed so close that he's impeding my movement. It doesn't bother me that much, because it's kind of adorable. It's nice to have someone hide behind me — living in a house full of Super Saiyajin, that's not something I get very often.

The others are still wondering what's taking Goku-san so long, and for some irrational reason, panic starts squeezing my heart. What if something happened, and he isn't allowed to come back after all? What if something went wrong in the crossing over between dimensions, and he was somehow injured (even though he's already dead)? What if — 

Suddenly, everyone gasps, and I see the air shimmer ahead of us . . . and there, looking the same as when I saw him nearly eight years ago — minus the addition of a gold halo hovering above his head — stands my Goku-san. He's still as good-looking as ever, with his bright eyes and heart-stopping, knee-buckling smile, and I feel my cheeks redden. I see Goku-san for the first time in years, and all I can think of is how good he looks? How shallow is that?

Of course, shallow or not, it's still true. Seven years of aging haven't touched him, while _I_ feel like an old lady. Goten-chan says I'm beautiful ("You're the beautifullest Mommy in the world! And Daddy will say you're the beautifullest wife in the world, too!"), but will Goku-san still think so?

Ahh, I'm still dwelling on physical appearance. Enough of that! I look around at the group, and to my surprise, almost everyone is crying. Goten-chan ducks even farther behind my leg, but for once I ignore him. All I can do is stare at Goku-san like he's some travelling god come to visit, feeling my heartbeat quicken. It's like I'm a teenager all over again!

He says hi to everyone, then all of a sudden he looks at me and smiles. "Hey, ChiChi!"

I want to say something, but it feels like my voice is caught somewhere in my throat, and I can't speak properly. My eyes are tearing up, too. "Goku-san . . . I missed you!" is all I can say, my voice shaking. It's kind of pathetic, really . . . after so long, the only thing I can blurt out is, "I missed you."

But the way he looks at me when I say that, it's like I said the most meaningful thing in the entire world. I don't understand how he can do that; even after we've been apart for so long, he can still melt my heart. His eyes soften, and he grins wider. "I missed _you_, ChiChi," he replies, his voice more gentle than his normal speaking tone.

I can't say anything else, because Goku-san looks away. Even if he is my husband, Goku-san wouldn't want to ignore anyone else, and I admire him for that, oddly enough. I hear him ask everyone if we're just going to stand and stare at him, and in a flash, almost the whole group is at his side, hugging him, each of them trying to get as close to him as possible. My mouth quirks as I watch all the adults act like kids at an ice cream truck.

It's strange how Goku-san has had such a profound impact on everyone's lives. Anyone he meets ends up loving him, even if it takes a while.

  


I hear Goten-chan start whimpering, and I decide to introduce him. Before I have a chance, Goku-san notices him first, commenting that it looks like a "little him" is hiding behind my leg. Goten-chan just stares as I tell his father about the son he never knew he had.

Funny, but I'm just so ecstatic that my son's finally meeting his Daddy, that I don't register anything that's being said. I know I speak, then Goku-san, then all of a sudden Goten-chan cries out, "Daddy!" and runs into his father's waiting arms. Goku-san picks him up and swings him through the air like he's known Goten-chan all his life, and I start crying all over again. Everything feels so . . . so _right_, watching the two of them play together.

Finally, someone decides that we should start moving toward the qualifications arena, and the group crowds close to Goku-san as though he's a mystical guru or something — which, I suppose, he is. He's done enough for this planet and those he loves to more than qualify for all the respect he gets.

I watch them walk away, and I stand back, letting them go. It's not my place to try to monopolize him, not when Goku-san belongs to everyone . . . though I feel a twinge of regret, I'll have time to speak to him privately once the tournament is over — now is his time to be with his friends.

No one looks back to see why I'm not following, but that's okay, since I didn't expect them to. It doesn't matter, anyway — that look Goku-san gave me is enough to tide me over until the next time I see him. His eyes . . . all I have to do is think of his eyes, and I'll be floating on air for hours.

"Hey, what's the matter? Why didn't you come with us?"

Goku-san's voice, coming from behind me, makes me jump and almost scream. I turn around and see him, as cheerful and jovial as ever, but the little lines at the corner of his mouth suggest that he's worried. Seeing him standing there, I want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss him, but that would startle him too much. I can't just kiss him like nothing has happened — especially after pushing him away in the last year before his death.

"You noticed?" I raise an eyebrow, since that was definitely unexpected.

Goku-san rubs the back of his head sheepishly, his shoulders lifting in a shrug. "Well, not really — Piccolo notices, but it's the same thing."

That's the Goku-san I know . . . he cocks his head to one side and looks at me, puzzled. He has a lipstick smear on his cheek from Bulma, and again my lips curve upward in amusement. "There's that smile," Goku-san quirks his eyebrows. "I missed that, you know. Well . . . I missed all of you, actually."

He has that tone of voice again, and I have to blink several times to keep my eyes from spilling over with tears. I don't want to wreck Goku-san's happiness by causing him worry — he can't see me cry, even if I'm happy, without getting upset. "I missed you, too," I try to push back any emotions, but it's not working. 'I wished you'd come back so many times —"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Goku-san wipes a tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb. His hands are just as warm as when he was alive, and I'm glad for that. I don't think I could stand it if his hands were cold, though I don't know why they would be . . . just because he's dead, doesn't mean his body behaves like it is. "I could endanger the Earth anymore, that's all."

I know, I know, I know, I want to say, but I don't. I've heard it all before — from Gohan-chan, Kuririn, Yamucha, Piccolo — almost everyone who was on the Lookout when Goku-san contacted them felt they should repeat his message to me. I've repeated it over and over through the years, until finally all the bitterness was exhausted. Goku-san's lucky, though . . . if he'd come even two years ago, I would have reacted with anger . . . but now, I think I finally understand his motives. It's taken me a long time, but I don't blame him for leaving anymore. He's so innocent, I don't think he knew how much it would hurt everyone.

  


"I knew you'd come back, though," I'm not just saying that, either . . . I've always believed that Goku-san would return someday, even though I knew he couldn't stay — except I thought he would come to me in a dream or something. Never did I imagine that he would come back physically!

I watch in surprise as his face falls, and he cups the side of my face in his hand. "I'm so sorry I never contacted you after I died — they wouldn't let me. They said it was improper, or something like that. And I'm sorry I wasn't a better husband while I was alive. I'm sorry —"

The pain in his voice is horrible . . . I've never heard him so wracked with guilt about anything in a long time. The only thing that compares was before the Cell Games, when Goku-san was talking about not wanting to send Gohan-chan into battle. It's kind of weird, to hear just as much guilt about being a "bad husband" as when he placed the responsibility of saving the world on our eleven-year-old's shoulders. It's almost scary, that I can make him feel so bad — I wonder how many years he's thought about it. 

I press a finger to his lips, remembering other times, other conversations, where Goku-san had done the same to me. It's always been our way of reassuring each other — I don't remember who started it, but the gesture was always a comforting one, to me, anyway. It's a kind of quiet intimacy, one of the few that I'm willing to do in public.

Goku-san smiles a little — obviously he hasn't forgotten, either — and I raise my own hand to his cheek. I don't see how, with all my yelling at him, he believes that he's the only one to blame for the problems in our marriage. I'm not saying I was the sole cause of everything, but it's certainly not all Goku-san's fault.

"I'm sorry, too," I wish there was something I could say that would erase everything we've both done wrong, and let us enjoy Goku's time here without feeling guilt at mistakes past. "I'm sorry for nagging you all the time, and for pushing you away."

_Especially_ for pushing him away. The last year and a half before Cell's arrival were probably the worst of our entire marriage, because I got so fed up with Goku-san's constant fighting and training that I started making him feel guilty when he did come home. That, or I would ignore him completely, which was just as bad. My attitude, coupled with Goku-san's prolonged absences, made for a rough eighteen months.

During the first two years before the _jinzouningen_ battle, Goku-san and I got along pretty well. He trained all the time during the day, but he was home most nights and we would stay up late, talking or engaging in . . . other activities. Goku-san is a man who requires a lot of sleep, but when he gets in certain moods, his energy seems to come out of nowhere.

But as time went on and the deadline grew nearer, Goku-san started spending more and more nights away from home. He always brought Gohan-chan home, usually unconscious, and he would drop a quick kiss on my forehead while Piccolo put Gohan-chan to bed, then the two would go off to train some more. It got so that whenever Goku did try to spend some time alone with me, I would rebuff him. Whether it was a smile I didn't acknowledge or a kiss I wouldn't return, time and time again I shoved him away, ignoring the pain in his eyes each time I did it.

On one occasion, I was reading in bed when Goku-san came bounding into the room, grinning. He said that Gohan-chan was spending the night with Piccolo, and he sat next to me on the bed and kissed me in a way that I wouldn't be able to miss what he was suggesting. He smelled so good, straight from the shower, and when he touched me it was like all my senses were on fire . . . heaven knows I wanted him then. Oh, how I wanted him . . . but I was so angry at him for thinking he could take off and come back whenever he wanted, that I refused. I pulled away and told him coldly that I was tired and wanted to sleep.

I think if he had kept trying I would have given in, and perhaps relations would have improved from there, but Goku-san would never force me into anything. He kissed me one last time, then sighed and crawled into bed with his back to me. I had pushed him away for so long that he finally gave up — that was the last time we kissed until the week before his death.

If I'd only known . . .

  


Now, Goku-san smiles again. Saiyajin are somewhat telepathic, and sometimes he can feel my thoughts — especially when they're swirling and confused like they are at the moment. "I know," he says, and rests his hands on either side of my face, then he kisses me softly — a sign of both apology and forgiveness. With that kiss comes desire so strong it nearly knocks me over, but I shove it away. 

He pulls away a few seconds later, before I have a chance to respond, and he looks at me, his dark eyes brimming with questions. He takes me by the hand and leads me over to a secluded area, away from people, and tiny smile touches his lips. I mirror the expression and step close to him, leaning my head on his rock-hard chest, inhaling his scent. He always smells so wonderful — I can't describe it, but it's like the air on a summer morning in the mountains, spicy and natural. It used to put me to sleep, years ago — if I was tossing and turning, all I would have to do was put my head on his chest, and I would drift off almost immediately.

As the years passed after his death, his scent gradually faded from the pillow — I refused to wash his pillowcase, not wanting him to disappear, but eventually, he did.

His arms come up around me, strong and warm, holding me secure against him. One hand drifts in lazy circles up and down my back, and I wouldn't care if time stopped right now, forever. Vegeta's warning about becoming reattached is slowly slipping away — I don't care how hard it will be when he goes. I'm with my Goku-san now, and that's all that matters to me.

I feel a slight weight on the top of my head as Goku-san rests his cheek there, and I can sense the peace enveloping us. Why did I hurt him so, when he can make me feel like this?

Moments later, Goku-san steps out of the embrace, leaving me cold. "We'd better stop," he suggests, but regret is thick in his voice. "I know how you feel about this kind of thing in public," he kisses me one more time — but before he can draw back, I lean into the kiss, not wanting him to go. It's my way of showing him that I've changed my mind on that issue.

I can feel his surprise, but soon his arms wrap around my waist and I know he understands. I pull away first this time, satisfied that I've proved my point, but when I glance up at him, I'm shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. As I watch, one breaks loose and slides down his cheek.

One thing about Goku-san: he never cries.

"Goku-san!" I gasp, not believing what I'm seeing. Have I really hurt him that badly?

He doesn't try to wipe his eyes — he doesn't even seem embarrassed. He just pulls me to his chest again, his voice low. "Yeah, well, seven years is a long time to be without you. I couldn't spend all my time training, and when I wasn't I started thinking of you . . ." he starts to shake, and this frightens me. "I missed you so much, ChiChi! It's so amazing to come back and find out that you still . . . that you still l-love me . . . you could've found someone else, I wouldn't have blamed you . . ."

He lets out a sob and clutches me tightly, pressing his face into my hair. "I love you so much!" his voice quivers, and my heart nearly snaps in two to hear him. I've spent so much time mourning that I never once considered what it would be like for Goku-san — after all, _he_'s the one who died. Gods, I'm so _selfish_ sometimes!

Goku-san finally gets control of himself, looking self-conscious, but I make no comment about his outburst. "It's really weird seeing you again," he admits, "You haven't changed at all. You're just as pretty as I remember."

I snort. He and our sons — they all say that, even if I've just gotten out of bed and my hair is a mess and I'm in my nightgown. But whether it's true or not, no one can make me feel beautiful like Goku-san can.

  


Without warning, Goku-san lifts a hand and strokes my face gently, tracing his fingers lightly across my cheekbones, my forehead, my jaw line . . . I close my eyes and he trails his fingertips lightly over my eyelids. His other hand travels over my body, his caress light and non-possessive, and I stand there and let him touch me, swimming in emotion; it's like he's memorizing what I look like with his hands.

He's done this before, the morning after we were married. I woke up to feel his hands running up and down my sides and arms, over my stomach, my back . . . I asked what he was doing, and he said he was making a memory. Just in case, he said solemnly, something happened and we were separated for a while, he would always remember how I felt in his arms that morning.

I can still recall the feel of his callused hands exploring me — I kept the memories close over the years — but memories can't compare with experiencing it all over again. I find myself wishing that the tournament was already over so I could have him all to myself. I know that's selfish, but for once I don't care. I don't care about anything right now.

I reach up and pull his head down so our foreheads touch, and Goku-san rubs my cheek with his thumb. "I love you," he declares, his breathing slightly ragged from his earlier outpouring of emotion. "I know I didn't tell you enough before . . ."

"Don't," I don't know why he keeps blaming myself for everything — can't he see that he's here now, and that's all that matters? "Don't torture yourself over the past. It's over. You're here."

"Only for twenty-four hours — less, now," Goku-san frowns, his gaze flicking away from mine. He cradles my face in his hands, and his eyes light up with panic. "I don't want to go back, ChiChi! There's lots of fighting and new techniques to learn, but I miss everyone. It's so _lonely_ up there . . . I miss you, Gohan, Kuririn, Bulma . . . I miss the way Piccolo loosened up around Gohan . . . I even miss Vegeta calling me an idiot every two seconds!"

The intensity in his voice surprises me, for though I know how much Goku-san loved his friends, it never occurred to me what it would be like to "live" without them. We were all heartbroken over losing Goku, but, in a sense, he lost _all_ of us.

"I finally got what I thought I wanted," Goku-san continued, sounding desperate now. "An eternity of training, with new levels to reach and thousands of attacks to master . . . but now that I've got it, I just want to go home. I don't care if I never have another opponent who rivals me again, I just . . . I want to go back and live with you, and Gohan, and Goten, and Piccolo . . . I want to be able to talk to my friends, my family!"

And I thought I had problems.

Life has always been easier for me, though, just because of my disposition. If I'm angry, I can scream; sad, I can cry; upset, I'll faint. Goku-san, on the other hand, keeps everything hidden behind that trademark grin of his — he frowns sometimes, if something really bothers him — but except in battle, nothing cracks that cheery facade.

I can see why it's so hard for people to take his problems seriously, when he always acts so composed in public. He hasn't lost his innocence, for that's what makes him Goku, but it's not one-sided anymore.

I don't know what to do, I have no idea what to say. What can I, to comfort a man who has come back to the world and the people he loves, only to leave after twenty-four hours? Any wounds that were healed over would be torn open to bleed anew.

He looks at me with the eyes of a lost and frightened infant, and my heart goes out to him all over again. "You can't stay," I tell him gently, "You know that. But that's why you have to make the most of it while you're here now; be with your friends, Goku-san. Laugh with them, talk with them. Don't sit around reminiscing about old times — make new memories for all of us to cherish after you've gone."

Goku-san nods, almost obediently, then he closes his eyes. "You all mean everything to me," he says slowly, and he brushes his nose across mine. "All of you. You have no idea how special you are."

  


"You'll see us again," I tell him firmly. "No one lives forever — someday we'll come and live with you. And when we do, you'll never have to leave us again. Ever."

I raise myself on my toes and kiss him gently on the lips, trying to ignore my building desire to kiss him with more urgency — he doesn't need that right now; he needs comfort, not passion.

As soon as I think this, Goku's hand comes up behind my head, pressing our lips together forcefully, his mouth open against mine. His other hand is on the small of my back, crushing me against him, his fingers making small circles on the fabric of my dress.

He startles me — I haven't felt such longing, such raw _need_ from him in so long, but I'm not going to question it . . . I need this just as badly as he does, and I want it even more. I respond to the unspoken request eagerly, my lips parting beneath his insistence, and I reach up and entangle my fingers in his raven-black hair, pulling our faces even closer, relishing the way he makes me feel. It has been so long since either of us admitted that we needed this.

If you haven't been kissed by Goku-san — and I'm the only one who has — then I can't explain what it's like. Most people don't think of Goku-san as capable of this; they can't see past his innocence and naivete, and this kind of aggressiveness seems out of character. But all you have to do is watch him fight to see the fervor and intensity he possesses.

When we kiss, he transfers all that power and ferocity to me . . . it's an amazing thing to experience, and there's nothing else like it in all the world. Every touch is like electricity; the feel of his mouth on mine, his hands running over my body, ignites a desire that nothing else can awaken. Blood pounds in my ears, and every part of my being aches to be with him. I don't understand how he can make me feel like this, but I love it.

At last, fire burns in my lungs and I have to pull away, or risk passing out. The feelings are still churning inside me, and my knees feel weak . . . fortunately, my arms are still firmly wrapped around Goku-san's neck, keeping me upright. It amuses me to see that Goku-san's chest is heaving also, for that's the only time I ever notice him out of breath. That rarely even happens when he spars . . . it gives me a strange sense of power to know I can do something that no one else can.

Goku-san catches my smirk, and he rolls his eyes just a little. His eyes are bright, and the look on his face, suggestive and mischievous, is one that I hazily remember from better times. There is nothing vague about the way it makes me feel, though — my heart starts beating faster and colour rises to my cheeks, and it's all I can do to remind myself where we are. I laugh and slap him on the chest. "Not now. You have a tournament to fight in, remember?"

He brightens, looking so cute when he's excited that he reminds me of my Goten-chan . . . _our_ Goten-chan. Not surprisingly, I don't feel bitterness over Goku-san's fighting obsession anymore — that ended years ago. "We should get back," he concedes, "The others will be wondering what we've been doing."

"We haven't been gone that long," I point out, realizing with a start that it's been less than ten minutes. Was it really that short a time? Was that all it took for Goku-san to remove all my insecurities, my guilt . . . everything that has caused me pain over the last seven years? He truly is amazing.

Goku-san suddenly smiles at me as he puts an arm around my waist, preparing for the _Shunkanidou_. "I'll win the _Budoukai_ for you, ChiChi," he vows, with the earnestness of a love-struck teenager. "Just watch me."

I smile back. That's the only time he's ever promised to fight _for_ me, and the gesture seems at once heartwarming and adorable. I love him so much . . . even if he only has one day with us, at least it's better than one without him.

"And this time," he continues thoughtfully, almost to himself. "There won't be any enemies getting in the way. I'll be able to spend as much time with all of you as I can."

  


He covers my mouth with his own once more, then places two fingers to his forehead, and everything around us disappears. Suddenly, we're back with his friends, who instantly charge and hug him all over again. Apart from the others once more, I watch them and smile. He's a special man, my Goku-san.

"Did you get everything said?" inquires a deep voice from beside me. Piccolo's gaze is likewise upon Goku-san, who has Goten-chan on his back and one arm slung around Kuririn's shoulders.

"Yes, we did," I nod, laughing at Goku-san's antics. "Finally."

Piccolo is silent for a while, then remarks, "It's good to see him again. Even if he's only here for a day, I'm still glad to see him."

I think of all the years of mourning, filled with regret at things unsaid, or of harsh words spoken, all erased by one simple conversation. I ignore the fact that he's leaving, focussing instead on the present. That's what I should have done years ago. "So am I, Piccolo," I agree, "So am I."

Ahead of us, Goku-san picks up little Marron, Kuririn's daughter, and tosses her in the air before setting her on his shoulders next to Goten. Goten-chan holds her hand to steady her, and Trunks tugs on Goku-san's pants, wanting to know why he doesn't get a ride. The sight is absolutely adorable, and right then, I know it's worth it. All the loneliness that will return after he leaves us again . . . I won't mind it. Not when I can see everyone so happy.

Goku-san catches my eye, and he winks while I give him a little wave, laughing. Son Goku, the saviour of the Earth, husband, father, and friend . . . he can't stay with us long, but something tells me that while he's here, it will be a day we'll never forget.

******


End file.
